


Empathy

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama/Romance, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While testing Jim's senses and a strange new bond between them, Blair is kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empathy

Empathy, a Sentinel story, by Brenda Antrim. Rated NC17 for violence, language and homoeroticism. WARNING: rape scene. Characters copyright Pet Fly et al, no infringement intended. For Pris, who gave me the parameters -- thank you for asking! 

## Empathy

by Brenda Antrim  


He had expected it to be quiet, but even without benefit of his Sentinel hearing, Jim Ellison could hear a cacophony of sounds around them, barely dampened by the luxuriant growth of the rain forest surrounding them. Glancing from side to side, he was able to distinguish nine different shades of green in the undergrowth alone, again without using his enhanced sight. This place was a feast for the senses, enhanced or normal, and he could well understand why his Guide escaped to the Olympic Rain Forest as often as his duties at the university and the police station would allow. Thoughts of Blair Sandburg automatically drew his attention to the man, and he focused on the small figure ahead of him, dwarfed by the tall trees. 

For once, the usually frenetic anthropologist stood utterly still, his face tilted upward to catch the faint trace of light that penetrated the canopy of leaves high above them. He seemed to be listening, or merely absorbing the ambiance of the ancient forest through his skin. Whatever he was doing, it was benefiting him, for he showed a peace he seldom knew in the everyday world. Jim smiled to himself. As much as he kicked about these tests, it was worth it just for the opportunity to get away from the pressures of regular life and escape to relax for a little while. He used to do that alone, but in the three years since Sandburg had come into his life, he'd found himself escaping more and more often with company. Funny, how the younger man never seemed to intrude on his need for solitude -- quite the opposite. Sandburg fit. Best friend he had ever found, and the most unexpected as well. 

Seeing the wide eyes finally open in the completely relaxed face, Jim strode forward through he undergrowth and stopped at Blair's side. "You ready to do this, Chief?" 

Sandburg shot him a sparkling smile, enthusiasm lighting up his eyes and firing his movements. The energy was back at the suggestion of work. "Definitely, man, thanks for agreeing to this. It's been awhile since we've had a chance to get someplace where it's quiet and work on single sense trials, you know? It's like any physical action, you have to keep in practice or you rust out, and getting rusty with your skills the way your senses work is so not what you want to do. Way too dangerous, man." 

"Take advantage of it while you have it, Sandburg. We have to be in court at nine am tomorrow." Jim grinned at the torrent of words flowing from Blair as the other man set his backpack on a handy tree stump and began to pull objects from within. He was irresistibly reminded of Mary Poppins' magic carpet bag by the sheer amount of crap the student could stuff into one little bag. He didn't blink at the blindfold or the nose clip, although he peered hard at the thick leather gloves. But when the padded handcuffs came out he found himself protesting. "No way, Chief!" He held up his hands in a warding motion. "Nothing that locks!" 

Blair looked up at him with his best reasonable/pleading look. "I need to isolate the sense of hearing completely, big guy. That means muffle and immobilize everything else. Can you trust me on this, Jim?" 

"I trust you," Ellison admitted, "but no cuffs. I have to be able to get out of it easily if I start to feel caged." His voice was edgy. He didn't like to admit it, but some of his past experiences had left him with a real hatred of being held helpless. 

"Like with a zone-out? That's why I'm here, Jim! If you overload, I'll call you back. I'll watch very closely, man, I promise, nothing will get out of control-" 

"No, Sandburg," he cut in curtly. A barely perceptible shiver went through him, but Blair stilled immediately, staring searchingly at him. To his surprise, there was no further argument, just a thoughtful look in the sapphire eyes appraising him. 

"Okay, we're flexible." A little further rummaging in the magic backpack, and Blair drew out a soft, braided leather rope. "Tied? Loose? You can get out of it on your own in mere minutes," he grinned up at Jim, "but the illusion of restraint is still tangible. It's important, Jim. You have to feel, psychologically, that the only functioning sense you have is your hearing. We need to isolate it as much as possible if these tests are going to work." 

Ellison considered it for a moment, eyeing the rope consideringly. "Right," he nodded finally, then smothered a grin at Blair's small whoop of victory. He shook his head at his irrepressible Guide, and settled himself comfortably on a mossy rock. Blair gathered up all his testing accouterments and walked around him. They had discussed the nature of the experiments, mainly consisting of isolating and identifying sounds alone with all other sense cut off, on the drive up, so they were silent as Blair began to prepare Jim. As Blair gently tied the blindfold around the Sentinel's eyes, Jim decided to bring up something that had been bothering him for a few weeks. 

"Chief?" Now seemed as good a time as any. No distractions, and he had all Blair's attention centered on him, not scattered over five different things at once. At Blair's assenting noise, he swallowed and continued. "Have you noticed anything ... odd lately?" 

Blair settled the blindfold neatly on Jim's cheekbones. "How's that? Too tight? Can you see anything through it? What do you mean by odd?" 

Jim sighed. So much for not being scattered. "It's fine, not too tight, blind as a bat, and odd in that ... I'm not quite sure how to describe it." He could practically feel the inquisitive gaze on the back of his neck as Blair smoothed the gloves over his hands. 

"Is it your senses, Jim? Has something strange been happening that you haven't told me about?" 'Again' was implied but not said outright. Jim shook his head impatiently at the line of questioning. Sandburg wasn't following him. 

"Not with me, Blair. With us." 

The hands working at his wrists stilled suddenly. He could feel the pulse through the fingertips resting on his forearms, speeding up, and the warm body behind him was suddenly completely still. "What's wrong with us, Jim?" There was trepidation in the low voice. He hastened to reassure him. 

"Nothing's *wrong*, Sandburg, it's just *odd*." Jim gritted his teeth. He wasn't good at this explaining stuff. To his relief, the fingers slowly began tying the rope around his wrists again. "Sometimes, I'll ... feel something, like I'm hungry, when I just ate, and then you'll come into the room and say you're starved. Then, last Tuesday at the station, I was totally pissed off, out of the blue, and had to excuse myself from questioning a suspect because I just wanted to slap him." 

The fingers stilled again, but the voice behind him was thoughtful this time. "Tuesday? That was the day I had to deal with Doctor Forbister, and he gave me all sorts of shit about my grants. I was mad enough to spit nails, man, it was so not me. Got a handle on it, but it was a struggle." The movements behind him picked up as the last of the rope was tied off. "Try that, Jim, is that comfortable?" 

He tugged experimentally at the ropes. They were solid, but with enough give in the knots that he could eventually work his way out. He felt a little silly at vetoing the handcuffs, but he was glad Blair had gone along with him. He could deal with this, as long as his Guide was there. "It's fine, Chief." Before he could repeat his question, the voice moved around to the front and he felt a hand pat his knee. 

"You know, you may have something there, Jim. Some of my research has indicated that the Sentinel/Guide bond has other applications, a form of mild telepathy or empathy that allowed the two to communicate with one another in times of battle. Kind of a built in two way early warning system, so the Guide could send warnings to the Sentinel for self protection or the Sentinel could send alerts to the Guide to warn the tribe. Have you noticed any instances of empathic connection with anyone else you've been close to, Jim? Members of your unit, your partner Jack, Carolyn-" 

Jim's snort interrupted him. "No way, Chief. The opposite, if anything." He could practically feel Blair's grin at that one. "What about you," he went on, hoping to distract the other man from that line of questioning. "Have *you* noticed anything weird going on?" 

"Jim," Blair replied wryly, "In the past three years I've been shot, kidnapped, burned out of my house, dropped from buildings, medivacced out of mountains, trapped in rigged elevators, and made any number of truly unusual acquaintances. For an anthropologist, *all* of those are weird happenings. But, no, man, within the context of our shared reality, I haven't ..." 

The hand on Jim's knee tightened. "What?" he asked quickly, wanting to hear that he wasn't the only one experiencing these strange feelings. 

"Couple of Saturdays ago. You, uhm, went out with Sheila. Did you, I mean did the two of you ... did you have sex?" 

The blunt rush of the question startled Jim into honesty. "Yeah." He swallowed, head turning automatically to stare blindly at his Guide. "Why?" 

"About, oh, nine or so?" There was definite laughter underlying the question. 

"I didn't stop to check," Jim retorted dryly. "*Why*?" he repeated with emphasis. 

"Because I was at the loft working on some exams, and all the sudden I got the strongest urge to jack off, and I don't know about you, big guy, but discussion and clarification of the social substructures among the ancient Gauls is *not* normally a subject that gets me hot and sweaty." 

Both men were quiet, digesting this rather unexpected development in their relationship. "We need to find out more about this," Jim finally stated with typical understatement. 

"Well, it seems to be empathic in nature," Sandburg began clarifying the occurrences, the scientist in him coming to the fore. "Triggered by elemental needs or emotions, hunger, anger, sexual urges. Keep it in mind, Jim, and I'll do the same. Any time you have an unexpected emotional reaction and can't find a reason for it in your surroundings make note of it, and so will I, and we can compare notes and see what kind of link seems to be forming here." Excitement was coloring his tone, and Jim could feel the faint drafts of air from where he was moving his hands about. "Also, try to isolate the emotion, and whether it seems to be specific or general, and if there are any other side effects. See if any of your senses are specifically affected \-- it might be some sort of bounce effect, where something I'm feeling amplifies something you're feeling, or there might be some kind of unconscious or subconscious telepathic intent." 

"One test at a time, Chief," Jim broke in again. He shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Let's get this one done before my arms fall asleep like this." 

"Oh, yeah! Sorry, man, too many directions at once again." Gentle fingers pinched Jim's nostrils shut and the rubber clamp slid over the tip of his nose. "Breathe evenly through your mouth, Jim." 

He complied, feeling extremely silly, rather like one of those synchronized swimmers at the Olympics. The resultant mental image of himself and Sandburg, fully clothed with backpacks and hiking boots on, cavorting underwater with nose clips and bathing caps, nearly upset his equilibrium. Forcing the image away, he concentrated on breathing so he didn't hyperventilate or smother himself, and followed the verbal instructions Blair was giving him to regulate his breathing. 

Time slowed, then stopped, fell away, unimportant, as he gradually subsided into the warmth of his Guide's voice. Light and sensation were cut away, until all he had to attach him to the world were the sounds assaulting his ears from every direction, filtered, sorted, identified and categorized with the aid of that soft, strong voice. Oddly, with his nose plugged, the taste of the air differed, becoming flatter, until it was no problem to cut it away as well. There was bird chatter, and rustling from the leaves as the wind flowed through, and the fall of an occasional branch. Further within those sounds, folded under them, was the scratch of a clawed foot on a tree limb, the peck of a bird at a seed, the scrape as bark loosened from a trunk. Woven even through those small sounds were the long, slow, unsteady tracks of water droplets down the moss in the undergrowth, the sibilant shuffle of an insect burrowing under a leaf. Nearer still, the soft sounds of breathing, the slide of cloth over skin and the brush of hair over clothing that signified his Guide's position. 

He had no way of knowing how long had passed, but it wasn't long enough for pins and needles to have started in his bound hands, before the relative silence was split by the revving of a motor. Cross country bikes, from the sound of it, coming from far away, coming up fast. Off roaders tearing up the trails were not all that unusual, and after identifying the intrusive noises for what they were, he followed his Guide's instructions and tuned them out. Many of the softer sounds had stilled at the invasion, but some remained, specifically the water and wind noises. He was explaining what he was hearing when he realized that the motor sounds were all around him. There was a startled exclamation, and he abruptly opened his hearing up to its fullest, flinching from the assault on his eardrums but trying to hear what the hell was happening. He instinctively began to rise to his feet, tugging at his bound hands and heading toward his Guide. Before he could so much as call Blair's name, a blow struck him from behind, knocking him off his feet and stunning him. Ears still listening intently, even through the violent ringing in his head, he heard one, desperate cry from his partner, then the motors revved again and there was silence. Echoing in his mind, that last enraged, frightened scream seemed to surround him, refracting through the empty spaces between the trees and rebounding over and over back to him. 

Shaking his head, scraping the side of his face against the rough ground to get the damned blindfold off, wriggling and pulling madly at the rope binding his wrists, he fought to get clear. He had to get to his Guide, had to protect his partner. Had to save Blair. Unaware of the blood running freely from his scraped cheek, from the abrasions on his arms, from his mouth where he had bitten his lip, he nearly dislocated his shoulders pulling his wrists free. He ignored the resultant burning pain and tore the blindfold off, grabbing his and Sandburg's packs and beginning to hunt. There were clear tracks from the bikes through the soft ground of the underbrush, and will all his predatory protective instincts fully aroused, he was determined to take back his Guide. 

They had taken off at a dangerously high speed, given the uneven terrain. Clenching his jaw at the thought of Blair being put at such risks, wondering in the back of his mind why the hell anyone would make such a raid to carry the young man off, he concentrated on his task. Less than two miles from their make-shift lab in the forest, the tracks branched off in three different directions. Unable to tell from the relative depths of the treads which direction the doubly-loaded bike had gone, Ellison, knelt at the forking of the tracks and dug his fingers into the rich soil. Pounding one fist beside the split trail, recognizing a professional snatch when he saw one, he cursed, half-spoken promises of retribution falling from him. Staring ahead into the blank face of the forest, he called Blair's instructions for centering to his mind, and deliberately calmed himself. 

Settling down in the moist grass, he closed his eyes and opened his ears. He could no longer hear the motorbikes, they were too far gone to track through hearing. He opened his eyes, surprised at a dull pain in his knuckles, and realized that he was driving his fist repeatedly into the ground. Deprived of a legitimate target, his rage was channeling out the only way it could. He took a deep, steadying breath and headed back for the radio in his truck. He would continue to track these bastards, but he was going to need back-up.   
  


* * *

Blair had been concentrating so fiercely on his Sentinel that at first he hadn't realized the dirt bikes were coming directly toward their camp. They weren't far off a well-traveled foot path, and he had foolishly assumed that they were going to go past. Beyond the fleeting disgust at the momentary disruption in Jim's concentration, and a deeper dislike of idiots who befouled nature with selfish stupidity, it hadn't actually dawned on him that they were being targeted. 

His first indication that something was radically wrong was the sudden loud roar of an engine directly behind him. He had half leapt to his feet and whirled around, but before he could finish standing a strong arm had whipped out and tossed him bodily across the front of the motorcycle. A flailing hand impacted with the hot steel of the engine, startling a yelp of pain from him, before he found himself jerked upright and clamped in front of a guy roughly the size of King Kong. One belated scream, "Jim!" at the top of his lungs, and the trio of cyclists ripped through the camp and headed through the trees. 

From his unstable perch, the horizon flying past in a nausea-inducing blur, he forced his head around, desperate to see what was happening to his partner. He saw one of the thugs lash out with what looked like a stick and catch Jim along the back of the head with the end before peeling out to join the other cycles. Seeing his friend go down, he yanked desperately against the steel band of an arm crimped around him and wailed with something close to despair. 

It was his fault. It was all his fault. Jim was tied up, blind, injured, in the middle of nowhere, and it was all his fault. If he hadn't insisted on the damned tests, if he'd just trusted the Sentinel not to move, then Jim would have had a fighting chance, not been struck down, helpless to fight back. In his frenzy to help his partner he fought wildly with his captor, nearly up-ending the bike. The arm at his waist shifted, and he felt a huge paw clamp over his genitals, squeezing hard enough to immobilize him and bring tears to his eyes. Barely able to hear past the roar of the engine, he made out a threatening growl coming over his shoulder. 

"I don't gotta keep you in one piece, pretty boy, so you just shut the fuck up and stop movin' around or I'm gonna rip your fuckin' balls off. You hear me?" 

Paralyzed by the pain between his legs, blinded by tears and the ends of his hair whipping in his eyes, suddenly aware of just how precarious his perch was as they flew through the trees, he froze. The hand tightened further, and he whimpered, then gave a tiny nod. It was enough. The pressure eased, and before he had a chance to gasp back the wind he had lost when he was grabbed, the arm was back around his ribs. Closing his eyes and praying to any protective Deities who might be in the area for the safety of his Sentinel, he held himself as still as possible and waited to see what these madmen would do with him next.   
  


* * *

Jim made it to the truck in one piece, quite an accomplishment considering his state of mind. Groggy from the blow to the head, half terrified at the possible fate of his partner, with a quickly building rage threatening to turn his world red, he had concentrated fiercely to make sure he would be able to lead the troops back to where Blair had been snatched. Just shortly after beginning the trip back to the truck, his senses stretched as widely as he could get them to try to catch a glimmer of his Guide, he had been struck with a fierce pain in his genitals. Dropping like a stone and curling into a fetal ball, he had shut everything down, starting with his pain receptors. Immediately the pain disappeared, and he uncurled slowly, staring down at his crotch in total confusion. A trace of his previous conversation with Blair floated through his memory. 

"Oh, shit. Oh, please, no," Jim mumbled, realizing that the phantom pain had been one that his partner was suffering, not something that had happened to him personally. Recalling how swiftly the pain had disappeared when he closed down his senses, he decided to open them again. The risk of pain was worthwhile if it was some sort of link to Sandburg. Gritting his teeth and unconsciously flexing his thighs together, he extended his senses. The pain returned, but much less intense this time, and he sighed with relief. Whatever they had done to his partner, it hadn't been debilitating. Resolutely not thinking about just what sorts of actions caused that kind of pain, he continued on his way to the truck. Hitting the emergency band on the radio immediately, he was patched directly through to Simon Banks. 

"What is it, Jim?" The Captain's normally gruff tone was tempered with concern. It wasn't like Ellison to demand access like this, and the usually calm voice sounded on the edge of hysteria. 

Jim took a deep breath and began to explain. "Sandburg's been kidnapped, sir. We were off the hiking trail doing some hearing tests," he didn't explain further, knowing they were on an open mike, "when these three guys came off the trail on dirt bikes. The hit me in the back of the head and took off with Sandburg." 

He went on to give his exact position, explaining that the three bikes had peeled off in different directions and that he couldn't follow all of them. Banks agreed to notify the local authorities and have a search begun immediately. Jim grunted acknowledgment and prepared to sign off. 

"What about you, Jim? You don't sound too good," Simon asked, more concerned than he cared to admit. 

"I'm okay, Simon. There's no time." With that, he cut the transmission, gathered up his cell phone so that he could stay in contact with the back up when they arrived, and headed back into the woods.   
  


* * *

The ride seemed to go on forever, and the hard vibration of the chassis between his thighs didn't help the pain in his abused balls at all. After what felt like an hour, the other two bikes cut back in to join the first one, and they came to a halt in front of a ramshackle hut in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Before Blair could react to the sudden cessation of motion, the thug behind him grabbed him by the hair and held him in place. Swinging one leg over the saddle, he dragged Blair along in front of him into the spare single room of the hovel. 

A man stood waiting for the rest of the bikers to join them, staring at Blair the entire time. The young man did his best to withstand the scrutiny without obviously shaking, struggling to control his fear and observe as much as he could, so that when Jim caught up with them, as he surely would, he could testify and put all these creeps away for as long as they were breathing. The guy looking at him now was a prime specimen of pure criminality, with cropped brown hair, an unprepossessing face, and the flat, glittering eyes of a snake. He wasn't particularly big, or imposing, or otherwise memorable, being a medium tall man with medium coloring and a medium build. Blair realized he was describing the perfect invisible man in a crowd, and shuddered. The total normality of the man scared the hell out of him, because those dead eyes promised anything but normalcy. 

"D'ya kill the cop?" No inflection in the thin voice, not even mild curiosity. The big man holding Blair shook his head in reply. 

"Nope. Knocked him on his face but didn't hurt him too bad. He was on his feet when we left." 

"Ya didn't tell us they was into kinks, Clay," one of the other bikers piped up. "The cop was all tied up and blindfolded." 

"Candy from a baby," the third one chimed in, his voice incongruously high and childlike coming from such a fierce looking face. 

"Good," the ringleader replied. He waved one hand toward a rickety chair in the corner of the room. "Tie him up good, Beck, make sure he can't get loose." 

The second biker took a step forward. "We 'bout done here? Cuz I got things to do that don't involve bein' stuck around here the rest of the day." 

Blair missed the next part of the conversation as he was hauled ass over nose across the big biker's shoulder, losing his breath as the muscled shoulder impacted heavily into his abdomen. Still trying to catch his breath, he found himself upright again, firmly planted in the chair, held once more by the hair with one meaty paw as the other massive arm looped rope around his torso. By the time the wall-sized biker stepped back far enough for him to see something other than sweat-stained tee shirt, he couldn't move an inch. Beck, the behemoth who'd captured him, patted him none too gently atop the head. 

"You just stay there and don't make no trouble, pretty boy. Maybe Clay'll keep you in one piece." With a grunt that could have been mistaken for a laugh, he lumbered across the room to join the others. All four men went into the front yard, apparently to be paid off, and Blair decided this would be the best chance to try to get the hell out of there. 

Slipping his hand into his back pocket, thanking the God of Idiocy that allowed Berk to tie his hands loosely behind his back and trust the rope coiled across his torso to keep him down -- it left his fingers in good position to dig out his Swiss army knife and put it to use. Smiling slightly to himself at the probably reaction Naomi would have to the interesting uses he had put his Bar Mitzvah gift to in the last few years, he concentrated on sawing through the ropes holding him in place. Raised voices from the front of the shack reassured him that he had some time, as payment for services rendered was being hotly debated by the bikers and the boss-man. With a silent sigh of relief he felt the first of the ropes give way, then another, then another. Careful to avoid any creaking of the chair on the wooden floor that might give him away, he shrugged the ropes off and snuck to his feet, creeping toward the side window with one eye firmly planted on the men currently arguing in the front. 

Holding his breath, eyes huge with fright and determination, he tugged at the warped window frame until he had it far enough up to slip through to freedom. The sudden roar of engines to the side of him jolted him badly, and he shoved himself bodily through the small opening, knowing that his time had run out. Sliding down the short wall to the wet grass beneath the window, he skidded slightly, gathered himself, and turned to run. 

He didn't get very far. 

Two hands came out of nowhere, one buried in his collar, the other in the back of his jacket, jerking him to a standstill. Panic lending him strength and speed, he slipped both arms out of the sleeves and tried running again. This time, something hard and heavy hit him on the side of the ankle, sweeping his feet out from under him and landing him heavily on his side. Rolling instinctively, he came to his feet a third time and tried to run, but his right ankle gave way, a searing pain wrenching from his foot clear up into his back. With a strangled cry, he fell. This time, he didn't have a chance to get up before those same hands were under his armpits, hauling him up, twisting his arms behind his back. 

"Going somewhere, ya little bastard? I don't *think* so." 

The attempt at frog-marching only got one step before the abused ankle gave out again, and Blair couldn't quite hold back the scream. The creep manhandling him took that as a sign of noncooperation, and obligingly kicked the recalcitrant ankle. The shooting stars in his head were the last things Blair saw before everything went black.   
  


* * *

Less than a mile away from the site of the kidnapping, Jim froze, bit back a muffled shriek of pain, and abruptly sat down, nursing his right ankle. He'd been hiking at a near-run, all his senses on high alert, when he must have hit a hidden hole or something, because it felt like his ankle had snapped. Dialing his pain receptors down, he peeled back the top of his boot and examined the joint. 

Nothing. No welt, no swelling, no bruise. Probing it gently with his fingertips, he found no evidence of injury. Swallowing dryly, he dialed his senses back up and stood, gingerly. No problem. 

Damn, he thought with a mixture of despair and anger, they're hurting Blair again. Got to find him, got to get to him, got to save him. All my fault. The words repeated over and over in his head, spurring him on, every sense he had open to the fullest, determined to rescue his Guide ... and stop them from hurting him any more.   
  


* * *

The sharp pain had dulled to a background roar by the time Blair came to again. This time, he wasn't on the chair, he was on a pallet. Ropes had been replaced by chains, old, rusted, and filthy, but still very effective at immobilizing him. There was a little play in the chains, allowing him to move nearly two feet in either direction, and to either sit or lie down, but not stand erect. 

And he was naked. 

He gulped, and looked around wildly. His clothes were in a bundle across the room, a small pile of his belongings heaped next to them. He didn't see his knife anywhere. 

"This what you lookin' for, boy?" The taunting voice drew his eyes to the far side of the room. Propped against the doorway, the ringleader of the gang was nonchalantly cleaning his nails with Blair's Swiss army knife. "Pretty handy, this is." He flicked it closed, then tossed it beside him onto a small table, already littered with a variety of objects. "Think I'll keep it." Shoving himself off from the door jamb, he wandered toward Blair, dark eyes roving constantly up and down the trim figure. 

Blair felt himself going rigid, and was unable to stop his instinctive motion to cover himself with his hands. The scouring eyes were making him feel unclean, and his vulnerability in the circumstances was scaring him half to death. Determined not to show any weakness in front of this human predator, he stuck his chin out, covered his genitals firmly with his cupped hands, and demanded, "What the hell is going on?" He impressed himself. It came out much more firmly than he would have thought himself capable of speaking. 

It didn't impress the criminal, unfortunately. "Name's Clayton Fouts. In case you ain't figured it out yet, you're my prisoner." One hand came out toward the captive and brushed lightly against his arm as if testing the softness of his skin. Blair flinched. 

"Why?" Damn, that had wobbled. He swallowed, then shrank away as Fouts leaned even closer. 

"You're sure a pretty one, aren't ya? I can see why the cop likes you so much he lets you tie him up in the middle of nowhere. Worked out to my favor, that did." He chuckled coarsely, then caught Blair's head in his hands. "This is gonna be more fun that I thought it would be. Not as borin' as I'd feared."   
  


"What?!" There had to be some sort of explanation for this, Blair reasoned wildly, besides my incredibly bad luck. "*What* is going *ON*, man??" 

Fouts settled back into a crouch next to the pallet, absently running his hands over Blair's body. Blair lay as still as possible under the mild assault, pulled back as far as he could in his chains, trying not to provoke anything worse. After a moment, Fouts began to speak softly. 

"Gotta cousin, good lookin' kid, 'bout your age, maybe a little bit younger. Name of Jerry Howard." 

Blair thought the name sounded familiar, but couldn't for the life of him place it. The pressure from the hands grew, turning into rough caresses, pinching here and there, seeming to enjoy the involuntary jerks Blair's muscles gave in reaction to the small pains. 

"Ellison got him sent down for thievin'. Punk cop got him on a murder charge, was an accident, but an old biddy got in the way during a job and Jerry had to get her outta the way. Trial's comin' up this week. Ellison's the star witness. Only he ain't gonna be a witness, now, is he." The hand lingered, stopped, tightened around Blair's throat. Dead eyes stared blankly into his own. "Cuz if he is, then he ain't gonna see you ever again." 

The grip on his throat tightened, and Blair began to thrash, desperate to breathe. Dimly, he heard another chuckle, then thankfully the fingers loosened and he gasped in deeply past tortured throat muscles. He tried to bring his own hands up to massage the tight skin, but found he couldn't bring them up past his waist because of the chains. Mutely, he stared in horror at his captor. The guy was a psychopath, and Jim had better find him damned soon, or there wouldn't be anything left to find. 

Fouts reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small gray cell phone. Opening it and thrusting it toward Blair, he demanded, "Call your cop." 

Shakily, Blair took the phone and punched in Jim's cell phone number. "He may not have it with him, man," he tried to explain to Fouts. "We were hiking, you know, getting away from it all and--" 

A clout to the cheek silenced him. His fist tightened reflexively around the phone and he nearly brought it up to strike back, except that he couldn't hit back because he couldn't get enough leeway in the chains for a good swing. "Shut up and dial, kid." 

He dialed.   
  


* * *

Jim was startled to hear his phone ring at his belt. Snatching it up, praying it was his partner, he barked, "Ellison!" into the open line. 

"Jim? Blair. Listen, I've got--" A muffled thump interrupted the hurried, shaky words. 

"Blair? *Sandburg*?! Answer me!" Please let him be okay, please ... 

"Cop?" A new voice, one he didn't recognize. "You there?" 

"Yes," he replied slowly. "Who is this? Is Sandburg all right?"  
  
"Fer now," came through immediately. "Shut up and lissen. You put Jerry Howard away for killing that old bitch in that robbery. You are *not* gonna testify at his trial. You hear me? You do, and you get the pretty boy here back in pieces." 

"Who the hell is this?" Jim broke in, trying to get a fix on the voice. He didn't recognize it at all. 

"Friend of Jerry's. Don't matter. What matters is this. You gonna disappear for a little while, 'til that trial is done. You tell anybody, you try to find him, he's dead. Slow, and in pieces, like I said. You testify, you get a piece of him for every day you go in. You unnerstand me?" Not giving the detective a chance to reply, he continued. "When I get Jerry back, you get your boy here back. You got a week." 

Before he could protest, or demand to talk to Blair, the line disconnected. Very close to panic, he forced himself to calm down and concentrate. There was no way he could give into the kidnapper's demands. In the first place, the disappearance was already reported, so there was no way to keep it quiet, even if he wanted to, and there was also no way he could not testify against Jerry Howard. He didn't trust the kidnapper not to kill Blair anyway, and his only chance to save his partner was to find him and put an end to this as soon as possible. Hitting the send button, he quick-dialed Simon. In a few terse sentences he put him up to date and got the computers working on all known associates of the robber. Blair had very little time. 

Opening his ears and eyes to their fullest range, he went back to the trail.   
  


* * *

Clayton Fouts stared at the unexpected treasure spread out in front of him. He hadn't expected it to be this easy, and he was prepared to take advantage of what life brought him. He'd never been much of one for being too picky, so he was prepared to overlook the fact that the long haired beauty he held hostage was a boy instead of a girl. Besides, turnabout was fair play. Jerry'd had a hard time in jail, all those big bastards in there wantin' him to be their girlfriend. Maybe it was time the asshole cop learned what it was like to have somethin' like that happen to somebody he cared about. 

Nodding once to himself, he casually backhanded Blair, sending him into the wall, stunning him. Before the young man could shake the stars out of his head, Fouts reached down and roughly turned him over. Twisting the chains, he yanked the strong thighs apart and settled down between them. The boy's hands were caught underneath him, his face was buried in the pallet, and his legs were held tight by the chain. 

He heard a muffled sound, and reached forward to pull the hair away from the boy's face. It felt silky in his hands, soft, and nice to touch. He wound his fingers in it for a moment, then bent forward. The hostage's face was scrunched up into a grimace of pain, and tears fell silently from his tightly closed eyes. 

"I ain't even touched you yet, boy, why you cryin'? 

"My ankle," came the strained reply from behind gritted teeth. 

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that the kid's right ankle was swollen and bruised. Ignoring the yelp of pain his action caused, he prodded it roughly. "Don't feel broke. Just sprained. S'okay, I'm gonna give you somethin' else to think about. Get your mind offa that little thing." 

Unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers down, he began to stroke himself quickly. Staring at that soft curly hair, the long, smooth back, and the muscular white buttocks before him, he found himself getting hard much more easily than he had expected. Reaching over and spreading those buttocks with his other hand, he peered at the small pucker with some curiosity. Feeling himself laid open like that, Blair tried to buck him off. Muffled pleas began to spill from the head of the pallet, but Fouts ignored them. 

"Ain't gonna fit," he finally decided. "Not without some grease of some sort." Looking around, he caught sight of the small tub of margarine left on the table from the morning's meal. "Don't parti'cl'rly care if you hurt, but I don't wanna wear all the skin off my dick, either." Efficiently twisting the chain tighter so that his captive couldn't move at all, he levered himself up and shuffled to the table. As he turned and made his way back to the pallet, margarine tub firmly in hand, his attention was caught by Blair's ass. The kid was jerking at the chains, whimpering slightly with pain whenever his ankle was jarred, instinctively trying to get away before his rapist came back. The resulting motion was enchanting to Fouts. Each lunge caused Blair's buttocks to part and close, so that his anus seemed to be winking at Fouts, pulling him in. His erection surged, and he dropped to his knees again between the boy's thighs, kicking at his ankles to pull the legs further apart.   
  


* * *

At the sharp pain in his sprained ankle, Blair screamed into the pallet. Before he could get his breath back from that pain, Fouts drove into him. There was no preparation, just bony fingers clenching into his buttocks to pry them apart, erection slamming into him with all the force of the man's back in it. With no breath for another scream, Blair's mouth widened silently, as he felt as if he was being ripped in two. It had been a long time since he had last been with a man, and even then it had been gentle, not this insane rutting that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with pain.  
  
  


* * *

At the fork of the bike trails, Ellison had to make a decision. Going with the odds, he followed the middle trail, and moved as quickly as he could. It was nearly noon now, and time was growing short. 

The backup had arrived, about a half hour behind them, and he updated them on the cell phone about his tracking. They agreed to take the other two trails and keep him informed of any progress. Snapping the phone shut, he headed deeper into the trees, straining to catch a glimmer of his Guide. Less than a yard into the new trail, his body arched, an incredible pain catching him at the base of the spine and sending him to his knees. 

When his eyes cleared from the pain tears, he took stock, and realized that the pain hadn't been centered in his back at all. It was lower. Squatting slightly, following the trail of fire, he discovered that it was centered in his gut, radiating up from his anus. An overpowering rage took hold of him as he understood the ramifications of that particular pain. Not content with taking his Guide from him, the son of a bitch had hurt him, and was now raping him. An unfamiliar sense of helpless frustration combined with the rage until he was nearly paralyzed with the strength of the emotions. Conflicting urges ran riot through him ... track, hunt ... kill, maim, rend, tear ... protect, comfort, nurture ... hunt - kill - protect - hunt - tear - comfort - protect - hunt - kill - hunt -- 

He was on the move, blindly flying through the trees, every sense on high, searching, hunting, to protect, to find his partner and stop the pain. Vision and hearing at preternatural levels, nose sniffing the air for the scent of his Guide, unaware of the small branches that flogged him as he passed, he made his way through the trees. Aware of the waves of pain pounding at his buttocks and his gut, growing in intensity with each step he took, he fought through them and used them to find his way. 

Three miles of pain and blind running later, he felt an unexpected rush of blood through his veins. His cock hardened, but it felt confusing, accompanied by the strongest feeling of denial he had ever known. He knew it didn't come from him, and guessed that the kidnapper was using Blair's own body against him. A maelstrom of emotions swirled just under the surface of his thoughts, feelings of animal anger, helplessness, horror, a vulnerability and blanket of shock not his own. Rage at having his gentle Guide abused so badly spurred him on even harder, running at full speed now, uncaring when his body jerked and semen flowed across the front of his pants. 

He was close. He could smell them.   
  


* * *

Fouts was grunting in time with his thrusts, uncaring of the damage he was inflicting, surprised and carried away with the pleasure of the tight ass surrounding his dick. He'd had no idea butt-fucking felt that good, or he'd've done it years ago. Feeling his climax gather, he closed his eyes and shoved as far as he could into the hot passage, then threw his head back and howled as he came. Collapsing onto the boy's back, he groaned as he felt his withering dick expelled from the clenching asshole. 

"GodDAMN, that was good." He pulled himself up, slapping the shaking flank under his thigh approvingly. "Gotta do that again." He examined his limp penis, somewhat surprised to see blood on it. "What the fuck?" Reaching over to pull Blair's thighs up to where he could see better, he spread the buttocks and saw a small trickle of blood trickling from the reddened ring of muscle. Curious, he prodded at it with his finger. 

"no, please, don't" came softly from the quivering boy. Perversely, this made Fouts even more determined to satisfy his curiosity. He leaned forward to see better, and was surprised again by the scent rising from the sweaty skin. It smelled good, musky and dark, and he found his erection returning. Reaching under the upraised hips, he searched out the boy's dick. It was good sized, but completely limp. Smiling nastily, he began to pump it. With his other hand, he played with the still bleeding anus, stretching it with his finger, diving inside with one, then two, prodding at the shrinking flesh.   
  


* * *

Blair was in hell. He'd never known such pain in his life, and he'd never, ever been so helpless to stop it. He withdrew as far into himself as he could, but he couldn't escape completely. When a rough hand grabbed at his penis and began to work it, he clenched his fists into the chains and tried to distract himself any way he could. To his utter horror, his body was paying no attention to his mind. He felt himself harden, and nearly vomited at his own body's betrayal. 

As he felt the climax being forced from him, and the invasion of hard fingers thrusting into him at the same time, he sobbed into the stinking cloth under his face and prayed to pass out. The probing fingers were occasionally stabbing into his prostate, and the unexpected kick was adding a surreally arousing flavor to the whole nightmare scene. Unable to fight, unable to will his body to stay inert, completely out of control, he sent up a series of prayers from the depths of his heart. They were all addressed to his Sentinel, and they all begged for help. 

His orgasm ripped from him, and he gagged. Before he quite came down from it, the fingers were wrenched from his ass, and he heard Fouts say something, he couldn't make out what it was over the pounding in his ears and the pain from his body. In a last ditch effort to escape, he jerked away from the hands, but his resistance was no more than a minor inconvenience to his tormentor. Easily held, he felt the burning begin again as hard flesh was forced back into him, and those damnedable hands were back at his groin. Trying not to choke on his own tears and mucous, pulling weakly at the chains with no effect at all, he gasped for breath and prayed once again to pass out. 

No one seemed to be listening.   
  


* * *

"Don't want ya thinkin' I'm selfish, here, boy. You gonna get some too," he crooned with mock concern, dipping his fingers into the margarine and using it to lube up the flaccid flesh. Blair buried his head in the smelly pallet and tried not to respond, but years of masturbation had given Fouts a certain mastery of the art, and an unwilling erection was the result. Accompanied by an unsteady stream of 'no's from Blair, Fouts pulled harder, slapping at the flesh, squeezing the head and pumping steadily. Against his will, the younger man's hips began to twitch, then thrust, until with a single deep moan of denial he came into Fouts' hand. The rapist smiled at that, enjoying watching the struggle, and rubbed the hot cream into the boy's balls. He stared at the muscle spasming around his fingers, then looked down at his own resurgent erection. Still holding the balls in his one hand, he removed the other fingers from Blair's ass and reached for the margarine, slathering it on the stretched opening. 

The boy reacted with a hiss of pain, and another involuntary attempt to escape. Fouts tightened his hold on the balls, and Blair stilled. "Let's see what that feels like from the inside, pretty boy," he growled, then slid himself back into the abused asshole. Holding himself still, buried to the hilt, he began to milk the kid's dick again. From the sound of it and the shaking in the shoulders in front of him, the boy was crying, but his body was reacting anyway. Fouts could feel a pulse beating around his engorged dick, and it was the most incredible feeling he'd ever had. Bending over his captive, he wrapped both hands around Blair's dick and started working it. The resulting muscular reaction in the tight channel around his own dick nearly blew the top of his head off. It was great, and weird, like fucking and jerking off all at the same time. Soon, the strong thighs held tight against his own began to buck, and he found himself thrusting back in time with the boy's rhythm. The hard dick in his hands began to spurt. When it did, the muscle around his own dick clenched, and the spasms felt like they were pulling his dick inside out. Dropping the kid's dick, he grabbed hold of the soft ass cheeks and thrust in hard, yelling out his pleasure as he climaxed hard enough to make his ears pop. 

Finally drained, he felt his emptied dick pop out of the kid's asshole with a soft plopping noise. "In-fuckin'-credible, boy," he managed, then slapped the shivering ass hard. "Damn fine! May not kill you after all. May keep you around for awhile. Best damned fuck I think I ever had." Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered unsteadily over to the table and picked up his cigarettes, lighting one and drawing deeply on it. Staring with approval at the shaking body of his hostage, he smiled contentedly. Yup, this had been one of his better ideas. Jerry got off, and he got his rocks off, all at the same time. Laughing at his own joke, he stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. When he was recovered, he thought he'd go do that again.   
  


* * *

By the time he came to the clearing, Ellison was no longer completely human. Each rasping breath out sounded like the low growl of an enraged jungle cat, and his entire body was tensed to pounce and destroy. Fouts looked up in startled fear, without time for as much as a shout, before the Sentinel was on him. 

The scent was strong, blood, semen, sweat. Blair, and fear, spread all over the rank skin. Strong hands came out, long fingers curled into claws, and caught his prey against the splintering doorjamb. Fouts tried to fight back, but Ellison gave him no opportunity. The pain and anger, mixed and merged from both Sentinel and Guide, fed back and amplified through their empathic link, exploded from Ellison in one great rush of retaliatory violence. Fouts' head fell forward, staring in dumb disbelief as a clawed hand clenched around his genitals and ripped them completely off his body. A moment later, incredible pain blossomed throughout his nervous system, and he threw back his head and opened his mouth to scream. 

Reacting on instincts from a millennia of primitive rage, Ellison grasped his enemy by the throat and shoved the bleeding mass of flesh into the man's gaping mouth. Fouts scrabbled at his jaws, trying to unclog his esophagus, but the shock of pain and blood loss was too much. Before he could clear his throat complete, he passed out. His body began to convulse as it suffocated, but he died from blood loss before the lack of oxygen could kill him, the mangled genitalia falling from his slack jaw to lie at his side. Ellison was already past the twitching corpse and into the shack before the convulsions stopped. 

The growling was still continuous, and increased in pitch when he saw his mate. Operating with incredibly enhanced levels of adrenaline, he didn't feel the skin on his hands tear as he pulled the chains from the wall. Blair was shaking, his eyes closed, his buttocks and thighs smeared with blood and sperm. Wrapping the chains around his Guide, Ellison scooped him up and headed back down the trail. He had to get him safe, had to get him warm, had to clean the blood off. Had to take him home.   
  


* * *

Simon Banks headed the team of sheriff's deputies and park rangers on the hunt for the kidnappers. Scouring the forest around the bike trails, they followed them northward, until a crashing sound in the trees caused him to call a halt. Signaling the men to get down and covered, he crouched down behind a concealing tree. To his intense shock, he recognized his friend Jim Ellison. Jim was holding what looked like Blair Sandburg, naked and tied up in some sort of chains, and both men had blood all over them. Jim was chalky white with shock, and Sandburg looked to be unconscious. 

Stepping into Ellison's path, he was very nearly bowled over by the determined detective. "Jim! Hold on, there! What's going on? What's wrong with Sandburg?" 

Ellison managed to stop his headlong flight, staring up at Banks with dilated, glazed eyes. Finally seeming to recognize his Captain, he gestured with his head back the direction he'd come. "That way," he ground out, his voice sounding husky and raw. 

Simon gestured for the men to continue their search, then gathered Jim up and led him with his burden over to the side of the trail. "Jim? What happened?" 

He was stripping out of his long coat as he asked, draping it around Sandburg's still form, fighting to get the warm material around the naked man. Ellison didn't seem to want to release his hold even long enough to cover the young man. With a start, Jim seemed to come back to himself, and reached around to pull the coat closer around Blair. 

"I ... I'm not quite sure, Simon. I was ... we were ... there was a ..." He seemed distracted, confused. Banks put a steadying hand on his arm. 

"Report, detective," he said firmly, hoping to jolt his friend back into some coherency. It worked, to an extent. 

"I don't really know, captain," Jim managed, huddling Blair close to him. "I was heading into a clearing, it hurt, I could smell him, knew he was close. This guy was on the porch, there was blood everywhere, Blair was inside. He was chained to the wall. I got him out, and ran." Dazed crystal blue eyes looked up at Banks. "There was so much blood," he finished faintly. 

"Okay, we'll find out what happened. First things first, you get Sandburg back to the main trail. EMS is there, waiting." Ellison looked at him blankly, and he sighed. "This way." He put an arm around his friend's shoulder, trying to help carry Sandburg's weight, but Jim refused to give up his burden. Shaking his head at the other man's obstinence, he turned and led the way to the main trail. Jim was right behind him. 

Less than a half hour later, standing next to the ambulance watching the paramedics prying Jim off of Sandburg long enough to get him strapped into a gurney, Simon's cell phone chirped. 

"Banks," he answered. 

"Sir, this is Deputy Longly. We, uh, found a corpse, sir." The voice on the other end of the line sounded ill. 

"What happened to it?" Simon was not feeling patient. After all this, they didn't have a live suspect? What had Jim done to him? 

"Looks like a wildcat got to him, sir." There was a pause, and an audible swallow. "Some sort of big cat, anyway, from the claw marks. Disemboweled the guy. No signs of a struggle either, so it must've come up quick. One of the rangers here says that happens once in awhile, not very often, but every now and then. Your detective must've got here shortly after the attack, or else his friend would've probably been gotten by the same cat." 

Banks was quiet for a long moment. The mental image was disturbing, as disturbing as Jim's blank state earlier when they'd found him. One thing he did know for certain -- Blair Sandburg had been in no danger from the 'cat'. Shaking himself back to the present, eyeing his detective through the open hatch of the ambulance, he cleared his throat. "An animal attack? Not a human?" 

"No way a man did this, sir," came the emphatic reply. "This guy was ripped to pieces." 

"Thank you, deputy." He disconnected the line, and folded the phone, staring thoughtfully at his friend as the ambulance pulled away. As far as he was concerned, the case was closed. There were some things he just didn't want to know.   
  


* * *

Blair half expected them to keep him overnight at the hospital, but they didn't. After a thorough, and uncomfortable, examination, he was pronounced in good shape. They put two stitches into the torn wall of his rectum, gave him antibiotic cream, strapped up his sprained ankle, took blood tests and swab tests for everything from HIV to chlamydia, gave him a tetanus shot for where the rusty chains had bitten into his flesh, and told him to take it easy for a few days. They also took photographs in case of a court case for the rape, and a soft-voiced young woman with concerned eyes talked to him about trauma and repression, and gave him her card. 

He just wanted to sleep for a week. 

Then Jim came in, with a set of sweats for him to put on and his sneakers in one big hand, and the need to sleep mutated immediately into a need to hide. 

His memories of the flight through the trees was shaky at best, but he knew who had rescued him. Knew what sort of state he'd been in when he had been rescued. And knew what his partner must think of him. Determined not to cry, angry and frustrated with what he perceived as his weakness, he forced himself to act as naturally as possible with Ellison. 

"Hey, big guy. Thanks for making like the cavalry." He was momentarily proud that his voice had sounded so normal. 

Jim didn't react to his teasing thanks the way he had expected. Instead of making a funny comeback or telling him to run faster next time, or even bawling him out about tying him up in the first place so he hadn't been able to help during the kidnapping, the big man simply reached out and gathered him up in a hug. Feeling the incipient tears threatening, again, he hesitated for a minute, then reached around and hugged Jim back just as tightly. They held each other for what could have been hours but was in actuality only a few moments, then slowly disengaged. 

"Let's go home, Chief," Jim suggested quietly. Blair simply nodded, and, with his friend's assistance, settled gingerly into the wheelchair for the ride out to the truck. 

It was a silent ride home, both men distracted by their own memories, and the emotions those memories stirred up. They each had a lot of heavy thinking to do, but by the time they reached the loft, they'd come to separate but identical conclusions. They had to talk. This situation had changed their relationship, made them both face some unexpected hard truths, and it was only fair to get it out in the open. 

Neither knew where, or how, to begin. Eventually, Blair was comfortably settled on soft cushions at the end of the couch, herbal tea was brewed and sat cooling on the side table, and complete darkness had fallen outside. It was the usually nonverbal Ellison who finally caved in and started to talk. Somehow, the darkness made it easier. 

"I know what happened, Blair," he said gently, scootching over on the couch until his thigh just touched his Guide's leg. He had to have some physical contact to ground him or he'd never get through this. 

"Guess it was kinda obvious, huh, man? Especially with the way you can smell things." Blair's voice sounded strangled. He shifted, wincing, then settled down again, but his hands were moving, fingers roaming over the material of his pants, picking at loose threads, pleating the material and smoothing it in a repetitive movement. 

"No, that's not what I mean," Jim continued uneasily. Not thinking about it, just needing to feel Blair's presence as strongly as possible, he picked up one of the younger man's hands, stilling its restless movement. "I mean, when it was happening." The hand in his suddenly froze, and he could feel the tension in the quivering muscles along his leg. Blair's heart rate skyrocketed, and he found himself wrapping an arm comfortingly around the smaller man. "It's okay, Chief," he soothed automatically. "You remember what we were talking about when the tests began? Well, it kicked in big time. I could feel your anger, and your fear, and your pain. I knew what he was doing to you when he was doing it." 

Blair started to jerk away, trying to hide away from the bright eyes staring down at him. "This is not happening, it just can't be." Of all the times for an empathetic link to kick in, the one time he *so* did not want it to happen was when he was getting off on getting raped. At least, that was how it looked to him, and if he felt like that, then how could Jim feel any differently? "It wasn't like it seemed, man, it wasn't. I *hated* it, I was, like, freaking out, Jim, I was fighting so hard and it wasn't helping and I couldn't help it, man! It wasn't my fault!" Then how come you came, Sandburg? He tried to quash the mocking little voice, but he couldn't answer it, and couldn't kill it. 

"No, no. It wasn't your fault, Blair." Jim wasn't letting him escape. He had both arms wrapped around him now, careful not to jar the injured ankle, and was rocking him gently. "Don't blame yourself for what that sick son of a bitch did to you, Chief. There wasn't a thing you could have done to stop him." 

"And why couldn't I stop myself, Jim?" The question was ragged, and softly self-recriminating. Jim's arms tightened in response. 

"You couldn't. A body is a set of muscles and nerves, Blair, and they're going to respond to stimulus if it's applied, whether the mind wants to go along with it or fight against it. You were in shock, and in pain, and he raped you. End of story." Jim's firm reassurance helped, but Blair still couldn't get the memory of Fouts' hands out of his mind. 

"I came, Jim," he admitted shamefully. "Twice. He made me come twice." He swallowed hard, although whether it was to keep from crying or throwing up, or both, he didn't know. He wanted to hide his face in the larger man's chest and hide there, but he forced himself to meet Jim's eyes. The warm glow he found there took him by surprise, and eased some of the ache in his chest. 

"You said it, Blair. He *made* you. I felt that too," Jim continued, his words sending another jolt of shock through Blair's system. "I felt the orgasm, but more importantly, I felt the denial and the horror you were feeling. I felt you fighting, Blair. I've never felt anything that strong. You fought with everything you had-" 

"It wasn't enough," he blurted out, miserably. 

"- and that was all you could do." Jim reached forward and caught Blair's chin with his free hand. "All *anyone* could have done, Blair." 

Before he could react, the older man leaned forward and captured his mouth in the most tender kiss he had ever felt. Stunned, he felt his jaw go slack. Jim leaned back, looked searchingly at him, then, with a slight smile, tipped his mouth shut with one finger under his chin. 

"Don't you get it, Chief?" Blair shook his head, uncomprehendingly. "It's more than a Sentinel/Guide thing. It's a Jim/Blair thing." Jim smiled sweetly down at him. "You're home, you're safe, and you're going to stay that way." 

Swallowing several times to try to get his mouth back in working order again, Blair cocked his head and stared at his Sentinel. "What, exactly, are you trying to say here, Jim?" 

One large hand came out and cupped his face, and clear blue eyes met his own. "I love you, Blair. And no one is going to hurt you, ever again, if I can help it. The Blessed Protector fell down on the job, and you paid for it. That isn't going to happen again." 

He read the depth of commitment in those eyes, and felt his breath coming quickly in his lungs. After a moment, Jim settled next to him, and pulled him closer. "You okay with this?" Jim finally thought to ask, when there was no reply forthcoming from his Guide. 

"Yeah," he finally replied absently, mesmerized by the touch of Jim's strong fingers along his shoulder and the sense of utter security he found wrapped up in those long arms. "Yeah, I think maybe I am. Just ... not right away?" 

A sigh ruffled the curls along his cheek, and he finally relaxed into his Sentinel's hold. "Whenever you're ready, Chief. I'll be here."   
  


* * *

Epilog -- eighteen months later   
  


* * *

The therapy was going well, and the nightmares were much less frequent. Jim was always there to hold him, and that feeling of security was helping the healing process immensely. His Blessed Protector had even come with him to several of his therapy sessions, and they were working through the emotional fallout from the rape together. The tests were all negative, and the unkind but undoubtedly true reaction was that Fouts had probably not had sex with anything but his right hand for years, so he wasn't a great risk for STDs. Blair had healed, physically, and was bouncing back to his standard enthusiasm for life. The two men had even returned to the rain forest and done some field tests, although they had had to work hard to overcome the fear that nearly prohibited them from entering the area. Throughout the days, the empathic link grew steadier, and they added its existence to the arsenal of Sentinel/Guide tools. It came in very handy, especially in dangerous situations, giving them almost a sixth sense that enabled them to watch out for one another in a way that was almost uncanny. 

But Blair was still contending with two drawbacks stemming from his ordeal. Both were tied directly to Jim Ellison. It had taken several weeks for him to convince Jim to stop treating him as if he was made of porcelain, and now that he had gotten him to stop hovering, Blair was finding that he was getting nowhere in his quest to have Jim follow up on the implied promises made so many months previously. 

He knew the detective loved him. Jim made no effort to hide the fact, touching him even more frequently than had been his wont, and simply *being* there all the time. At first, the other detectives had thought he was simply being over protective, in reaction to what had happened. Given the physical closeness Blair and Jim had shared before the kidnapping, they didn't see anything unusual at all. As the days turned into weeks, then months, and the attention didn't waver, a few tumbled to the fact that this partnership was closer than the usual partnership, but nothing was ever said. Don't ask, don't tell was as alive and well in the law enforcement community as within the military. The Cap was okay with it, so the troops were okay with it. The only one who *wasn't* okay with it was Blair himself, and that was only because he was getting the name without ever having played the game. 

That was about to change. 

Talking had never particularly convinced his Jim of anything. So he steeled himself, talked it to death with his therapist, and came up with a plan that would deal with his own fear of his sexuality, stemming from the rape, and his frustrated need for Jim. With no little trepidation, he checked the loft one last time and took a deep breath. As he heard the key turn in the door, he finished lighting the candles and turned out the lights, waiting for his plan to either hit pay dirt ... or blow up in his face.   
  


* * *

The first thing Jim noticed when he walked in the door was the scent. Sandalwood, and jasmine, melting wax, alfredo sauce, fresh bread, chocolate, and Blair-scent. The tinge of arousal that was always underlying Blair's normal scent had been strengthening in the last several weeks, but he had held back. The first move had to come from the younger man, had to be at Blair's pace, at Blair's comfort level. Jim had wanted this too long to truly trust himself, and Blair had been so badly shaken by what Fouts had done to him that he didn't dare push the issue. As he closed the door and leaned against it, taking in the low lighting brightened by splashes of candlelight, he grinned. Looked like Blair was ready. He knew he certainly was. 

"Hiya, Chief," he growled softly, Sentinel vision easily picking out the still form leaning against the counter in the far shadows of the kitchen. The younger man was wrapped in Jim's silk robe, the material draping over him, sliding against his skin in a way that sent Jim's pulse pounding in his veins. 

"Hiya, big guy," Blair responded throatily. 

A match flared, and a final candle was lit, a fat green serenity candle that added a hint of pine to the combined aromas in the loft. In the flickering light, Blair's face looked unearthly, all wide azure eyes and slanting cheekbones, full, tempting mouth and dark curls framing his face. Jim felt a jolt of arousal sizzle through him, and found himself speaking before he could stop himself. 

"God, Blair, I hope this is a seduction, 'cause if it isn't, you might as well just take me out back and shoot me now." 

The solemn eyes crinkled suddenly as the fey face stretched into a wide grin. "That's one of the things I love about you, Jim. You are, like, *so* subtle, man." 

Jim wasn't aware of moving, but he must have, because he was just inches away from his Blair. Of their own volition, his hands rose and cupped the rounded chin, fingertips sliding gently along the smooth cheeks to alight on the short, crisp sideburns before curving around the edge of his ears. "I love you," he whispered, and the grin on Blair's face melted into the softest smile he had ever seen. 

"I love you, too, Jim, you have to know that by now." 

Carefully, as if afraid that too quick movement would shatter the moment, Jim leaned down and captured that full mouth with his own. They had kissed, lightly, in the past few months, but he had held back, taking his cue from his Guide as always. There were no restraints on this kiss. When he felt the fire begin to blaze out of control, he tried to pull away, but strong hands caught at his skull. Long fingers crushed the short hair and pulled him closer still, deepening the kiss even further. When Blair finally allowed him to breathe again, both men were panting. 

"Let's take this into the living room, Jim," Blair suggested huskily. All he could do was nod in response. 

The next hour was a daze for him, a stream of kisses, candlelight, finger food in dripping sauce, licking fingers and lingering caresses. By the time dinner was thankfully finished, Jim had been hard for what felt like forever, and judging by the flush and the heat rising from his partner, Blair wasn't far behind him. Catching flecks of chocolate falling from one another's lips led to more kisses, and the robe found a home on the floor, joined quickly by every stitch Jim had on, shed as quickly as possible. While the pace was fast, it was never frantic, and Jim was pleased to see that there was no fear in Blair at any time. 

Scarcely able to keep himself under control, he was to the point where he'd either have to get Blair in his bed or excuse himself for a quickie in the shower, when Blair rolled off of his chest and reached out a hand to pull him to his admittedly shaky feet. 

"Bed?" Please? Blair's eyes glowed. 

"Yes." God, yes. Or take me now, Jim added silently, here, anywhere, I'm yours. 

They made it up the steps, barely, among many tiny pecking kisses, and Blair pushed Jim gently onto the bed. Recognizing his Guide's need to stay in control of the lovemaking, he relaxed into the firm mattress and willed the tension from his muscles. This was Blair's night, as he had hoped and as his partner needed, and Jim would do nothing other than what Blair needed. They kissed for a very long time, exploring one another, mouth to mouth, to chest, to neck, to groin, to thigh, to calf, to shoulder and wrist and palm. Jim's first orgasm took him almost by surprise, Blair's hand firm and gentle on his flesh, Blair's mouth against his throat, their legs entangled. Blair used the ejaculate as a lubricant, working his fingers deeply into Jim, then slowly, with great care, entering him. 

Lying on his side, his face buried in the pillow that smelled like Blair, one leg bent forward, Jim clenched his fists into the softness of the pillow and gave himself up to the intense satisfaction of being possessed by his Blair. He felt full to the heart, the pressure, not quite pain, transforming into the most exquisite pleasure he had ever known. He was hard again, but the urge to climax wasn't as intense, given his recent release, so he concentrated on pleasuring Blair, manipulating his internal muscles to rhythmically massage his Guide's length, until the iron control the younger man was showing finally broke, and he began to buck unevenly into Jim. Riding out the storm, encouraging Blair with every moan he gave, Jim shuddered as Blair finally lost himself, clutching at Jim's hips with his fingers, burying himself as deeply as he could reach. The sensation was incredible. 

Eventually, the clutching hands relaxed, Blair slipped from him, and Jim was able to turn himself around and gather his lover up close to his chest. Blair roused, a smoky, sated look in his deep cerulean eyes, and smiled sweetly up at Jim. Lifting a hand to caress the broad chest, Blair bumped his wrist against Jim's still turgid erection. He sucked in a breath at the feeling, and his Guide looked at the swollen cock, then up at his face. 

"Make love to me," he said almost under his breath, knowing Jim's hearing could pick it up. 

"I thought that's what we were doing," Jim managed to squeeze out as Blair ran a lazy fingertip in small circles over the head of his erection. 

"I need you in me," came the reply, stronger this time. Jim looked at him with a flare of hope and concern. 

"You sure about this?" Please be sure, the thought flashed through his mind, I couldn't bear to hurt you. 

"Yes," Blair answered, easing himself onto his back and spreading his legs, one knee nudging Jim on the trip. "I need to see your face, but I want you in me." Jim stared at the sight of his lover opened before him, and swallowed heavily, feeling the blood surge low, making his cock jump. "Now!" 

Well, there hadn't been a trace of hesitation in *that* command. Reaching beside him for the tube of lubricant that had shortly before been used to ease his own passage, he quickly warmed a generous amount with his fingers and eased them into Blair's opening. Those bright wide eyes stared intently up into his face the entire time, as if his love was attempting to memorize his features, or reassure himself of just who it was in bed with him. In response, Jim slowed and deepened his movements. He could read the reaction as Blair's eyes deepened to lapis, pupils expanding until the iris nearly disappeared. Convinced that Blair was ready for this, he relaxed a little of his tight control over his senses. This first time, especially, he wanted to feel everything. Needed to make it as good as he could, to replace the nightmares with something wonderful. 

Careful not to zone out on any one sense, he allowed them all free rein, mapping Blair's responses by touch and sound and scent, concentrating completely on his Guide. Every ripple of skin, every flush of arousal, every tiny whimper was given its due. By the time he was through tasting, teasing and tempting, Blair was wild in his arms, clutching at his flanks, pressing himself in harsh need against Jim's bulk. Not wanting the passion to go far enough to become pain, Jim returned his attention to Blair's anus. When the puckered muscle was sufficiently relaxed, he shifted, easing himself into the tight channel, watchful for any indication of pain or hesitation on his Blair's part, but there was none. Fully ensheathed, he rested, then in response to Blair moaned urging, began a steady driving rhythm. 

By now Blair was fully erect, the end of his cock weeping, bouncing lightly against his stomach with each thrust. He was moaning with each exhalation, no longer capable of coherent speech, and Jim felt his own control slip away at the sight. Reaching one hand down between them, he grasped Blair's erection firmly, and began to squeeze him, running a thumb into the tiny opening, spreading the fluid around the heated flesh. At the same time, he changed his angle of entry and rubbed his ridge of his cock against Blair's prostate with each stroke. The constant stimulation after the extended foreplay made it impossible for either man to hold out for very long. Blair came first, sighing Jim's name through tightened throat muscles. Jim felt the onrush of the orgasm, and stilled, held deeply inside Blair's body, fighting the urge to come himself. The spasming of Blair's sphincter around his cock overcame his determination, and as Blair was coming down from his climax Jim fell into his own. The muscles spasms continued irregularly, milking the last of his orgasm from him, and Jim curled around Blair, gathering him up against him. Blindly, he sought his partner's mouth, and as his cock was pushed from the tight heat of Blair's body his lips opened into the welcome heat of Blair's mouth. 

Holding his Guide close to him, Jim settled back against the pillows, exhausted and exhilarated. "Did you feel that, Blair?" he roused himself to ask. A soft rumble of laughter from mid-sternum answered him. 

"Id've had to've been dead not to, big guy," Blair managed to get out between chuckles. Jim pinched his left buttock, gently. 

"Smartass. I meant ... did you lose yourself there? I'm not saying this right," he broke off in frustration. 

"I think I know what you mean, Jim," Blair answered seriously, if a bit sleepily. "No boundaries. I felt what you were feeling, like there was no you or me, just us. Couldn't tell where I stopped and you began." 

Jim nodded, satisfied. "That's it, exactly." He reached down and kissed the top of Blair's curls. When there was no answer, he listened for a moment to the even cadence of the other man's breathing, and smiled. Gathering his sleeping lover to him, safe and contented, he settled down to sleep himself. Deep in the darkness of the loft, something began to purr.   
  


* * *

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